


Killer | Queen

by rainpuddle13



Series: Killer | Queen [1]
Category: Agatha Christie's And Then There Were None (BBC 2015), Agatha Christie's Poirot (TV), CHRISTIE Agatha - Works
Genre: Drama & Romance, F/M, Intrigue, Plot What Plot, shagemies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-10 16:18:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5592871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainpuddle13/pseuds/rainpuddle13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two killers meet in a bar in Paris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Paris, October 1932

**Author's Note:**

> Philip Lombard is borrowed from _And Then There Were None_ and Alice Cunningham is lifted from the _Agatha Christie: Poirot_ episode "The Labours of Hercules". 
> 
> This started out as a tiny little fic bit tease on Tumblr and within a few hours it had become a full blown PWP. Blame it all on shiparker. It’s her fault. Thanks to mmmuses for the beta!

_Paris, October 1932_

A tingle went up his spine when he entered the Le Grand Hotel bar, a sixth sense of his that had saved his life more than once. He knew was being watched: sized-up, and assessed by someone. Most likely his potential employer he’d been called to Paris to meet. It was to be expected in his line of work as a gun for hire. He had the comfort of his .38 tucked away in a side holster beneath his evening jacket. There was nothing he couldn’t handle.

He sauntered over to the bar, ordered a drink, then took a sip of whiskey before turning to causally survey the room, cooling ticking off who may or may not be a threat. There was no immediate danger in a crowded room so he took his time. He dismissed most everyone. There were two unsavory looking men trussed up in evening dress that seemed out of place, but upon closer inspection they did not set off his warning bells.

What caught his attention was a pair of sparkling blue eyes openly appraising him as he made a circuit of the room in search of an empty table where he could put his back against the wall with clear exit points. The woman was young and sitting alone at a table near the stage. Pretty. Redhead. Porcelain skin. Beaded black evening gown. Diamonds around her wrist and dripping from her ears. Wealthy. A spark of recognition startled him when their eyes finally met. He was sure he’d never met her in his travels, but it was the recognition of something more primal, elemental, dark. This woman was a kindred spirit. 

“Philip Lombard,” he said smoothly after being drawn to her like a moth to a flame, holding out his gold lighter so she could light her cigarette. She seemed undisturbed by his Irish accent.

“Alice Cunningham,” she purred after taking a long drag and exhaling slowly, examining him most closely. The sound of her voice told him all he needed to know about her: spoilt upper- crust Brit. “Buy me a drink, Mr Lombard.”

He told the passing waiter to bring two glasses and a bottle of Jameson as he took the seat across from the beguiling creature. She was dangerous; that he could feel in his bones, but then so was he.

This was going to be fun.

“Where’s your chaperone, Miss Cunningham?” asked Philip as he poured the fine amber-colored Irish whiskey into crystal glasses. 

“Alice, please,” she replied with a feline smile, picking up her glass and tossing the contents back, “and I don’t need one.”

He regarded her with an arched eyebrow. Obviously the woman could handle her drink. He poured her another. “I can see that.”

“What brings you to Paris, Mr Lombard?” She ran her finger around the rim of her glass as she spoke. He could think of any number of ways to put her elegant fingers to good use.

“Business,” Philip replied, downing the contents of his glass in one swallow. It seared his throat and burned his nostrils and he relished the heat. “I’ve just returned from East Africa.”

Her eyes widened slightly. She couldn’t possibly know what he’d been doing on the Dark Continent, at least not yet anyway. He’d made damn sure no one had lived to tell the tale. Apparently the natives didn’t mind dying. “What did you do whilst you were there?” Alice asked.

“This and that,” he dodged, “and please call me Philip.”

“Philip,” she said his name softly, allowing to roll off her tongue. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, pinning him to his seat. This woman was unlike anyone he’d ever met. She was just the sort he could very stupidly lose his heart to if he wasn’t careful.

He shifted in his seat. “What are you doing on the continent all alone?”

“Oh, just avoiding a spot of bother at home.” She extricated another cigarette from the jeweled case and he fumbled for his lighter.

He lit his own cigarette after lighting hers, taking a long drag, filling his lungs before exhaling through his nose like a dragon. “Anything I might be able to assist you with?”

“No, I don’t believe so.” She regarded him coolly as she continued to smoke. “They’re all dead.”

“Then what is the bother if they’re all dead?” He was pretty sure of the answer, but he wanted to hear it from her lips.

“The police,” she answered with a shrug of one fine-boned shoulder. It made the beads shimmer and move like water in the dim light. “You know how they are with their questions. Never satisfied are they?”

“No,” he agreed, “which is why I avoid them when I can.”

“Smart,” she said wistfully. He could feel the toe of her shoe pressing against the inside of his calf. “It was a necessary evil this time. Insurance and the like.”

“I see.” And he did. Clearly. Alice Cunningham was truly a woman after his own heart.

“Do you?” she questioned him, her toe sliding higher to nudge his knee. Her face was the picture of innocence.

He’d never had a woman so blatantly try to seduce him before. It was different, being the quarry, and he found he didn’t mind it so much when the predator was a ginger vixen. He poured another drink and tossed it back then filled her glass. “I’m getting an idea.”

“Good.” She took a sip of the amber whiskey, her tongue darting out to catch an errant drop of liquid beading at the corner of her mouth. His cock twitched.

She was good. He’d have to admit that, but young and that implied foolish. She was flushed with her early success and that meant dangerous. It was heady concoction to a seasoned killer like himself, to feel that excitement again, the blood rush and the exhilaration of getting away with it. He’d have to teach her a very hard lesson.

“Would you care to dance, Alice?” Philip asked silkily just as the band started up. Two could play this game. He knew he could be a charming bastard when the need arose.

“I’d love to,” Alice held a hand out to him as she answered. 

She was tall for a woman, slender in his arms, delicate almost, but he could sense there wasn’t anything frail about her as he spun her around the dance floor. Every man in the bar had their eyes on her. He liked that. It made him jealous. She was his. She laughed heartly when he dipped her dangerously close to the floor, her cheeks flush with drink. He knew he could have the time of his life with this woman which was why he made the decision that she had to go. 

“Where’d you learn to dance like that?” Alice asked breathlessly, nearly falling into her seat after the band took a set break. “You’re divine!”

“Dunno,” Philip answered honestly, “just always could.” He motioned for the waiter to bring them another bottle.

“I wonder what else you’re divine at, Mr Lombard…” Alice leaned across the table toward him, her fingers brushing the silk of his waistcoat.

“Back to the Mr Lombard are we?” Philip asked, enraptured. His heart thudded in his chest in anticipation of her next move. 

She stroked the finely patterned material as she drawled, “Makes it sound more dirty, doesn’t it?”

“And just why is that?” he chuckled.

“When I ask you to come up to my room,” she said softly.

It wasn’t often that he was taken by surprise. That was how a man in his line of work got himself killed. He wasn’t sure what sort of game this woman-child was playing with him, but he knew how it was going to end. He took the fresh bottle of whiskey from the waiter. “Show me the way,” he growled.

She didn’t say a word as she gathered up her cigarette case and crystal encrusted evening bag, only taking his proffered hand when she stood up. They walked out of the crowded bar arm-in-arm like any other couple calling it a night, but he could feel the excited energy coursing through her. It made him wonder if this was the first time she’d ever picked up a man. She had a pretty face so men would naturally flock to her. The one thing he’d learned in life was the most deadly creatures were also the most beautiful.

All pretense was dropped the moment the heavy door shut behind them. She melted against him when he attacked her mouth with a demanding kiss, pressing her back against the blue painted wood. He dragged his hands over her curves, getting a feel for her body as well as checking her for a hidden weapon. Nothing killed the mood like a knife in the back.

“You’re a dangerous man,” Alice observed when she’d freed him of his evening jacket. Her fingers lingered on the leather strap of his gun holster over his shoulder.

He pulled back to gauge her reaction. “Very.”

“Oh.”

“Do I frighten you?”

“No,” she leaned up on her toes to kiss his mouth, “it excites me.”

That as all the answer he needed to hear to take what he wanted. The holster and gun hit the floor with a muffled thump followed by the waistcoat and his starched white shirt and black tie. Her lovely dress was the next to go. She hadn’t bothered with knickers - just garters and stockings. They worked together to divest him of his trousers. His mouth was on her creamy skin in an instant, nibbling and kissing his way from her swan neck to the swell of her breasts, his fingers slipping through the slick folds at the apex of her legs until he left her trembling and begging. He took her then, hard and demanding against the door. She was all claws and teeth, sharp fingernails digging for purchase in the muscles of his back. He held her hips tight, his own fingers pressing bruises in her tender skin, and pounded into her over and over until she screamed her release. He followed with a shout of his own, jerking and shuddering until he was completely spent and his legs turned boneless, both of them collapsing into a panting, sweaty heap on the floor.

He was standing nude beside the bed lighting a cigarette a short while later after they’d recovered enough to decamp to more comfortable accommodations when a knock sounded at the door. His companion raised up to her knees on the edge cream silk covered bed, blue eyes drinking in his long, lean form before she plucked the cigarette from his lips and took a drag before calling, “Who is it?”

“The hotel evening manager, Monsieur Proulx, Mademoiselle Cunningham,” came the heavily accented voice. Philip smirked more than pleased with himself. “Are you well? Several guests reported loud noises and screaming.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Alice answered quickly before Philip could kiss her silent.

“There will be more screaming before the night is out,” Philip threatened menacingly, nuzzling at her ear, hands drifting down to cup her arse. He was fully aroused again.

“Are you sure, Mademoiselle?” insisted the hotel manager.

“Promise?” Alice took another drag on the cigarette before dropping it in the ashtray on the table. She took her time in grazing her teeth along Philip’s jaw. 

He pushed her back on the bed and crawled over her like a big cat toying with its prey. He kissed and nipped his way up her long legs. “You’ll never be able to stay at this hotel again.”

“Quite sure, Monsieur Proulx, that will be all, thank you,” Alice giggled madly when Philip’s head dipped between her thighs.

He might be many things, but he was definitely a man of his word. She had very nearly screamed herself hoarse by the time the first rays of dawn were starting to light the Parisian skyline with streaks of pink and purple. The hotel manager had been back three times to check on the mademoiselle over the course of the evening amidst reports of noise. The last time the Frenchman insisted on seeing her for himself that she was as fine as she said. Neither of them bothered to hide what they’d been up to all night. Needless to say the manager had been rather embarrassed.

“You’d decided to kill me, earlier,” Alice commented as she wiggled around in the rumpled bed to watch him sitting on the side. She was more beautiful than words, all mussed and wrapped in a sheet.

“Yes,” Philip answered, not bothering to deny the truth. She’d see right through it. He quaffed down the last of the whiskey he’d poured in a tumbler he’d found on the bedside table. “Then I thought better of it.”

“I did too.” She looked smug. “Thought better of it that is.”

“Oh?” He gave her a hard look, pleased his assessment of her as dangerous held. She was still a kitten and mostly harmless though he liked to think she’d be a fierce tiger given time and experience.

The feather light touch of her finger tracing the muscle of his thigh made him break out in gooseflesh. “I must confess I knew who you were, Philip Lombard,” Alice said plainly. “Our meeting was not by chance.”

So he had been right. He had been hunted, not that he had been in any real danger from this slip of a girl. “Is that so?”

“Yes. Your reputation precedes you and I wanted to see if you really were as dangerous as the rumors said. I wanted to try my luck with you.”

He chuckled and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Has anyone ever told you how adorable you are?”

“Yes,” she pouted, “and they’re dead now.”

“Good.” He got up to gather his discarded clothes and put himself to rights. It felt like he’d been to hell and back. A glimpse in the mirror told him he was covered in scratches and bite marks and every muscle in his legs and back protested when he moved. It’d been a very good night, but he was looking forward to returning to his own hotel where he could finally get some sleep without having to keep one eye open.

“Where are you going?” Alice asked, sitting up on the side of the bed and lighting another cigarette. She frowned when she shook the Jameson bottle only to find it empty.

“Away,” Philip answered, checking his appearance in the mirror. The curls he always sought so hard to hide refused to be tamed this morning. “Besides, you’ll need to find another hotel. I doubt they’ll let you remain here after all of the disturbances last night.”

“Take me with you.” She put out her cigarette as she said this. He noticed she kept her eyes diverted from him.

He was more than tempted. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” She glanced up at him then.

“It’s better for the both of us,” Philip said with finality. His life was not the sort of life for her.

“Then why not just kill me then?” Alice whispered.

He crossed the room in four long strides to gather her in his arms. “Because I decided the world is a much better place with you in it.”


	2. Berlin, April 1933

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months may or may not be a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's still all Shiparker's fault. Thanks to mmmuses for the second eyes and plot talk!

_Berlin, April 1933_

She’d been angry when he’d left her sitting all alone in that trashed hotel room in Paris. No, not angry. Angry didn’t begin to cover it. Yes, _livid_ was more like it. She’d been livid. That morning October last, she’d been livid that Philip Lombard had walked away without so much as a backward glance. Left _her_ to clean up the mess, so to speak. The bar tab alone was outrageous. She’d never be able to stay at the Le Grand Hotel again, thanks to him. And she liked that hotel too. 

“Fucking Irish bastard,” Alice muttered to her reflection in the oval mirror hanging above the dressing table. “He wasn’t even _that_ good.” _Liar_. He was better.

“Ma’am?” the maid standing in wait with her dress asked.

“Nothing,” she answered, stubbing out her cigarette and standing up to remove her dressing gown so she could finish getting ready for the evening. It was a big night after all.

The dress was a daring little number in shimmering, sapphire-blue silk she’d bought just for this occasion. It fit her like a glove and the neckline bordered on the indecent, but that was the point. She checked her appearance one last time, using the tip of her finger to wipe away the non-existent smudges of ruby-red lipstick in the corners of her lips. Once she was satisfied that her appearance was perfect, she allowed the maid to open the door where her host was awaiting her.

“Fraulein Cunningham,” Henrik Mueller greeted her entrance into the hallway, his eyes firmly fastened on her exposed bosom. “You are stunning.”

She did her best to blush prettily and ducked her head. It went against her nature to be so unassuming. “Alice please, and what would your wife say?”

He took her hand to make a show of kissing it. “What she does not know will not hurt her, eh?”

“You are terrible,” Alice teased, batting at him playfully. She had him right where she wanted him. It’d taken weeks of following and watching Herr Mueller in Paris before she’d made her move one late January afternoon in the Egyptian Antiquities room at the Louvre. He was a well-known collector in the art circles in Europe. He threw a lavish house party at his country estate on the outskirts of Berlin each spring to show off new acquisitions to his extensive private collection. It was easy enough to garner an invite posing as a naïve and flirtatious art history student at the Sorbonne. 

Henrik was nothing but predictable.

“That I am, that I am,” Henrik said ruefully, tucking his hand in the crook of his arm and guiding her downstairs to the library. “I think you’ll be most impressed with the piece I just acquired.”

“I’m sure I will be,” Alice said. She didn’t care about the new piece that was no doubt obtained through illegal means like everything else on careful display in the dark paneled room. There was only one piece of interest to her: a small solid gold casket covered in hieroglyphs. The private tour of the collection before the festivities began was the perfect opportunity to get the lay of things.

He stopped in front of a free-standing display case, giving her a moment to be suitably awed. “This is the statuette of Hathor Nebethetepet, bronze, late period, 664-332 BC,” he explained slowly.

“It is beautiful,” she breathed, bending down a bit to take a closer look at the security on the cases. It took all of her strength not to recoil when his hand caressed her bum.

“Not as beautiful as you are, meine Susse.” He pulled her into his arms and she cast her eyes down demurely. “So young, so fresh, so…” The sound of the door shutting more loudly than strictly necessary turned his clumsy wooing into a muttered curse. Alice gasped softly and earned a hard look from her host.

The object of months of bitter animosity strode across the room like a panther on the prowl. He was wearing white tie this evening. The man could wear evening clothes like nobody’s business. She thought she preferred him out of clothes better though she’d rather die than admit that out loud. Their eyes locked and she could scarcely breathe, despite her internal bravado. She’d forgotten how handsome he was up close. He hadn’t bothered to try to tame his curls and one naughty dark lock had escaped to lay just over his right eye just to taunt her.

“Herr Lombard!” Henrik boomed, slapping the other man on the back with a jolly laugh. “The man of the hour, so to speak.”

“Mr Mueller,” Philip responded dryly. His eyes never left hers as he spoke and she stood frozen, unable to look away.

Henrik glanced between them. “Are you already acquainted with the lady, Herr Lombard?”

“No, I don’t believe so.” Philip took her hand, smiling smugly as he brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “I’d remember if I’d met such a beautiful woman. Philip Lombard.”

“Alice,” she said with a shaking voice when his lips touched her skin, “Alice Cunningham. It’s a pleasure.”

“Not now, but maybe later, Miss Cunningham,” threatened Philip and released her hand.

She suddenly knew what it felt like to be rabbit caught in a trap when the heat of desire flooded through her, flushing her ivory skin a soft pink. “Oh.”

“Alice is a student at the Sorbonne,” Henrik said, “with an interest in Egyptian antiquities.”

“Is that so?” Philip asked with a smug look and she glared back at him with narrowed eyes. “Unusual interest for a woman.”

Henrik placed a meaty hand to the small of her back in what she was sure was a show of possession. She stiffened slightly and Philip raised an eyebrow. “She is a most singular woman: beautiful and intelligent,” the German stated.

“And what about you, Mr Lombard?” Alice asked sweetly. “What exactly is it that you do?”

“He’s a man of many talents,” said Henrik hastily. “He was able to acquire the statuette for me in Egypt.”

“I’ve been known to liberate certain items from time to time,” Philip answered smoothly, “among other things.”

She could just imagine what those other things were, knowing what little she knew about him. Henrik’s grip on her waist tightened. The low back of the dress offered no protection from the older man’s sweaty touch and she had to force herself not to cringe. So she focused on the one thing that would surely distract her. “That sounds rather daring and mysterious, Mr Lombard.”

“It was meant to, Miss Cunningham,” Philip said, making no effort to conceal his open appreciation of her with dark eyes. A lesser woman than her would’ve melted into a puddle on the spot. She’d had months to build up her resistance to him.

“Yes, yes,” Henrik declared with a wave of his hand, “it’s all a bit unpleasant for polite company.” The butler hurrying into the library to whisper something low in his ear prevented him from further assault upon her body in the name of staking his claim. “You must forgive me. The guests are starting to arrive and I must see to them. I trust you can see Fraulein Cunningham safely to the drawing room, Herr Lombard?”

“It will be my pleasure,” Philip answered with nod, one corner of his generous mouth quirking up into a knowing smirk that made her just want to slap it right off his handsome face..

“Do remember she is a lady above reproach,” Henrik warned before scurrying away with the butler. 

Philip waited until the door closed behind their host before turning on her, dark eyes full of speculation as he coolly looked her over head to toe. She was prepared. “A virginal art history student,” he mused. “Quite an act. I suspect Mueller is in for a surprise when he manages to get you in his bed. What is your play here?”

“That is none of your business,” Alice said tartly, keeping her attention focused on a mummified cat in the case next to the gold casket. “Tell me, does your conscience bother you when you, how did you say it, ‘liberate’ things from their rightful owners?”

“Does yours?” Philip asked dryly.

“Touche.” He grabbed her by the elbow and forced her to face him. She gave him her most defiant glare. “Is Philip Lombard even your real name?”

“That’s what it says on my travel documents,” he growled, crowding over her until she was pressed back against the cold glass of a tall case displaying an elaborately carved, large stone sarcophagus. She squared her shoulders, preparing for battle. His large hands found purchase on the swell of her hips.

“That doesn’t mean anything.” Her nostrils flared as she breathed him in. He smelled of shaving soap, cigarettes, whiskey, and some underlying musky scent that was uniquely him. It was intoxicating. Her body reacted to his proximity with a damp rush of heat between her thighs.

“If you say so.” He made a show of lightly brushing his lips up the column of her neck, lingering over her fluttering pulse point, inhaling deeply. “Beautiful.”

She could feel her knees starting to quiver under the tender assault of his mouth. He was lethal in more ways than she cared to think about. “Unhand me,” Alice commanded, surprised her voice did not quake. He wasn’t going to seduce her so easily this time.

“No,” said Philip as he pressed more fully against her, rocking his hips slightly so she could feel his cock beginning to stir to life. She bit her bottom lip to keep from moaning, remember well the long night they’d spent together.

“I should kill you,” Alice huffed as she pushed at his chest to try to create a little distance between them. She needed to get away him to clear her head.

“You won’t,” he said and released her so suddenly her knees nearly buckled. He pinned her with his eyes as he set about straightening his waistcoat and jacket.

“What makes you so sure?” she hissed, recovering her bravado in the face of his abject arrogance.

Philip smirked, “You’d much rather fuck me.” He bowed before striding confidently from the room and leaving her gaping in his wake.

Dinner was going to be a dismal affair if she had to suffer through listening to the smug bastard charm and lie his way through the evening. Any fears she’d had about sitting across from him during the formal meal were immediately quashed the moment the footman showed her to her seat at the far end of the table. She was between a handsome military officer and an older, pompous baron of some sort. Frau Mueller gave her a cold smile before taking her own seat next to Philip to the right of the head of the table. _The miserable old cow_ , she thought sourly as she sat, then plastered a smile on her face and turned her own considerable charms on her dinner companions. Philip was too busy engaged in a political debate to pay her much mind over the course of service. Damn him.

By the time the festivities had moved to the library for the presentation of the statuette, she had acquired the devoted following of several of the unattached men attending the party. She was laughing heartily at something Captain Risch was saying, not that she found it funny, but she’d found men like it when a woman laughed when they thought they were being amusing, when she felt a quiver in the pit of her stomach. With a hazarding glance over Professor Schmit’s shoulder, she locked eyes with Philip. He looked thunderous with eyes narrowed in her direction and his mouth turned down in a grim frown. She winked.

“Just what the bloody fuck do you call yourself doing?” Philip demanded of her. He’d had to resort to cutting in once the dancing commenced. A withering glare sent her partner scurrying away. Philip spun her around the dance floor with vigor until she was nearly breathless. He really was a superb partner.

She glanced up at him, not quite able to hide her smile. He was jealous and not bothering to hide it. She liked it more than she probably should. “I was enjoying myself immensely. Captain Risch has asked me—”

“—Are you trying to get yourself killed?” He shook her a bit as he as he spoke.

“I hadn’t planned on it, no,” she snapped, trying to shake him off without drawing too much attention. “There is nothing wrong with a bit of harmless flirting.”

“Harmless?” Philip seethed. “You might think Mueller is bumbling fool, but I assure you he’s a ruthless bastard.”

“Like you?” 

“Worse.”

“I can hardly believe that.” Anything else she was going to say died in her throat when she realized he had somehow managed to get her sequestered in a small alcove in a hall just off the ballroom.

He loomed over her, using his solid body and broad shoulders in a show of intimidation in an attempt to scare her into compliancy that might’ve worked on other women, but she wasn’t like other women. “Wait until he snaps your pretty little neck with his bare hands,” Philip cautioned, low and menacing, making her twitch a little. “He’s already suspicious of us.”

“Whose fault is that? Hmm?” Alice chided while making an attempt to breeze past him and rejoin the festivities. She truly had been having a good time until he turned up being all smug and doom and gloom. He grabbed her arm, strong fingers biting into the soft skin hard enough to leave marks later.

“You’re going to listen to me, damn it,” he warned.

She glared at him, defiant. “If I don’t?”

“Then I’ll make you.” 

“And just how do you plan to do that?” she asked acerbically. 

“Like this.” His mouth came crashing down on hers before she could form a thought. He forced her back against the wall, his free hand roaming down her side, past her hip, pulling and tugging at the dress, not caring that it was a Chanel. She bit at his lips and he kissed her harder. 

“You’re hurting me,” she managed breathlessly.

The grip on her arm slackened. “Good,” he snarled just before ruthlessly plundering her already bruised mouth with his tongue. She could taste the salty tang of fresh blood.

There was no choice left to her except to slip her arms around his neck and hold on for dear life. She wanted him so badly, to feel him hard and demanding deep inside of her; to wrap her legs around his hips to hold him tight; to run her hands over the rippling muscles of his back as he moved over her; to sink her sharp fingernails into his flesh and hear his answering hiss of pain. It’d been so long since she’d felt this way. Not since Paris. No one could excite her the way Philip did.

“Oh, God,” Alice groaned, beyond being ashamed when she felt his hand slip beneath her rucked up dress, sliding slowly up her thigh. She swayed her hips to urge him on. “I want you.”

He only chuckled in response, a single strong calloused finger slipped beneath the silk of her knickers, caressing slick folds of her sex teasingly. “I know.”

“Let’s go up to my room,” she breathed, squirming at the slow torture of his exploration, “please. Someone will hear us.”

“No.” He claimed her mouth again to swallow her sob of pleasure when he impaled her with two fingers and used his thumb to worry at the little bundle of nerves that sent stabs of exquisite pleasure shooting through her. She both loved him and hated him at that moment for giving her exactly what she wanted. 

One hand tangled in the short hair at the nape of his neck while she gripped his hand with the other, guiding him as she rocked her hips, wanting him harder and deeper inside of her. The tips of his long fingers crooked slightly, nearly sending her spiraling out of the control when he brushed against the tiny little spot that drove her mad. She could feel it building, burning hotter and hotter, with each touch, low in her stomach until she was sure she was going to be consumed in a raging inferno. His assault on her senses was unrelenting, his fingers, his mouth, all of him, demanding more of her than he had any right to ask for, until she finally broke, stars swimming behind her eyes and her body shuddering. He did not stop until she was near faint in his arms.

She mewled in protest, feeling suddenly bereft when he released her and smoothed down her dress. He was looking at her with dark, unfathomable eyes. It was impossible to tell if he was about to wrap his hands around her neck or drag her up to his room to continue his ravishment. “Philip,” Alice started, reaching up to cup his cheek with slightly trembling fingers. She knew which she would prefer.

“Alice,” he responded impassively, dodging her hand. He made a show of sniffing his fingers as if he were inhaling the bouquet of a fine wine before sucking them clean. Her thighs quivered. “I suggest you go pack your duds and leave right now while Mueller is distracted.”

“Why?”

He didn’t say a word, instead he dragged her hard against his long body and kissed her until she felt lightheaded and needed to fist her hands in his jacket to remain upright. “That’s why,” Philip said when he released her mouth. “Mueller will only have to take one look at you and he will know.”

“But—”

“—There are no buts, just forget about it.”

“I can’t,” Alice murmured, knowing any attempt to change his mind was going to be futile. He was the sort of man that once his mind was made up there was nothing short of utter disaster that would change it. 

“You can and you will,” Philip commanded. “My man, Brody, is waiting for you near garden door. He will take you to the train station and wait with you until you’re away.”

“But—” she tried again.

“—You’re going to do as I tell or I will kill you myself,” he hissed at her. 

She watched him closely, trying to determine whether he was telling the truth. “Do you think he’d really kill me?”

“Without a doubt,” he said grimly and a tiny niggle of fear crept up her spine, “after he was finished torturing you, that is.”

“You seem to know a lot about what Henrik would and would not do,” she accused, his tone and demeanor getting her back up. The last thing she wanted him to know was how much he just scared her.

“That’s because it’s exactly what I would do.” He peeked down the corridor to see if there was anyone about before snatching her by the elbow and propelling her toward the steps.

She stopped halfway up the dark set of stairs, turning to him watching her from the foot. He was wiping her red lipstick from his mouth with a white handkerchief. “Then why don’t you?”

“What I said in Paris.” Philip pocketed the stained cotton cloth and gave her a curt nod before walking away without a backwards glance.

Her heart thudded heavily at the remembered words.

_“Because I decided the world is a much better place with you in it.”_

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this story is a play on the Queen song "Killer Queen". It was appropriate on so many different levels. Thanks to Mynuet for the suggestion!


End file.
